Hey, this is keshi and this one is for the romantics out there. 
Romance is not all love. It's more of a worldview than anything, I think. Without being tethered to the

concept of love, I think that romance is viewing something more rose-colored than it is, seeing things as more beautiful than they possibly could be or saying things in a prettier way than what it actually is. That's romantic.
I think romance is fun. When it's tied with love, there are gestures that are romantic as in, you're putting a lot of effort and energy to make it grander than it is. So like a romantic dinner. Taking them

on a stroll through a really, you know, beautifully lit park or something like that, you know? Versus the more reality-based side of a loving relationship, which is being able to be comfortable in your skin with somebody else, you know? Loving them even without their makeup on or holding them when they're ugly crying in your arms. That's not necessarily romantic but that's also an essence of love.

Love is partnership. Not everything you do is gonna be like wine and roses and everything. It’s a partnership for a reason because you're supposed to tackle problems together. Love is a home that you build with someone else. It's not something that magically happens when you make eye contact with another person. You work to make it happen.

If you are in a relationship and you've lost the romance, I don't think it's ever too late to try to create a space for it, whether it is through those sort of, kind of, on-the-nose romantic gestures, but I think the small things are what's really important. You say a lot more in the small parts. So, like, holding them close when they're nearby, holding their hand, caressing on the back, you know, kisses on the forehead or on the cheek, you know,

touching their face.
For people listening who haven't found love yet, I don't think it's something that you have to go searching out. I mean, you want to be open to receive it, but it's not something that you go chasing. So for you all, I wish you much romance,

good fortune moving forward, and all my love to you.

keshi shares the difference between romance and love, and how both are necessary in a relationship.

Dear Fellow Romantics

Hey everyone, it's keshi.
So this one is for my fellow musicians and artists out there, and I just wanted to give some words of advice, but disclaimer: I don't think that I'm even in a place to give any sort of advice, and I don't think I'm particularly a master, but I think these are some lessons that I've learned that you might be able to find useful.
I think to those of you who are

maybe feeling stumped in their craft, I would—I guess I would say to do what you love and to do it without abandon. There's nothing anyone else can say or do that will actually stop you from doing what you want to do. If you want it bad enough, you can make it happen—like, you will make it happen.
It took me so many years and so many tries to figure out

exactly what the answers were. I think that if you're just starting out, I think it's good to know that, like, you're going to fall a lot of times before you're gonna see any sort of, like, success come out of it. I think it just takes years but, I mean, it's the same as making mistakes, falling down and getting back up again. As long as you get back up, you're going to move forward in your progress.
You have to make a lot of terrible shit to get remotely good. It doesn't matter if you're young or old. If you're starting out at someone and someone shits on you for doing that,

just fuck them. Like, they—you're on your own journey. You're learning something new. At least you're trying, you know? The whole point is that you are starting from somewhere. Everyone starts somewhere so just go get it.
Criticism is normal and natural. I think that's really important too. Having some friends that—like, two or three close friends you keep close to your chest and—have them be the objective ears that you send towards.

It’s how you hear what you're—how you're doing, objectively. You take it all with a grain of salt, but you take it into consideration and that's how you get better, yeah.
I think a good way to kind of hold yourself to that objectivity is to compare yourself to the artist that you love and to kind of stand back and compare the two. Look, you're never going to be as good but, you know, if you're making progress towards it, I think that's a good thing… compared to just, like, getting criticized and getting down on yourself.

You can't tell if they're just hating on what you do or, like, if they are actually genuinely trying to give you advice or even if they even know any better. So I think it's also important to find a couple of good ears that know what your goals are and are there to really help you grow.
I think success is whatever you define it to be. Success to me is being able to do music long-term

and be comfortable with it. And to have a work-life balance. To be able to enjoy my life. The things that make me happiest are the fact that I get to have a passion and chase that dream. But also, it's home life, so being able to have both is my happiness.
May you, my fellow musicians and artists and guitar players, be blessed with awesome music,

good gigs, fans at your shows, mastering the F chord, and good music unto you.

Some words of wisdom from keshi to fellow artists, musicians, and anyone pursuing their craft.

Chasing Your Dream

Hey, keshi here.
So we are going to start our meditation session.
I want you to sit with your legs crossed.

Your hands locked into each other. Close your eyes. And to take a deep breath in for five seconds. To hold it for two. And to breathe out over five.

And I want you to do that one more time. Breathe in. Hold it. And breathe out. 
I want you to pay close attention to the ambiance in the room.

To the feeling of your hands intertwined into each other. And maybe to the slight ringing in your ears, if you can hear it.
Feel the air flow through your nose and

out your mouth. And just appreciate the wondrous feeling it is to be alive. Think about the fact that you are floating on a tiny space rock in the

middle of a universe and how lucky you are to just be alive.
And you can open your eyes.

Take a moment out of your day and meditate with keshi.

3 Minute Meditation

Hey guys, this is keshi and I had to learn how to let go of a fear of rejection on stage and as, like, an artist. You have to be vulnerable. You have to be okay with being vulnerable and getting rejected and, you know, getting booed potentially when you go on and perform.

There might be people who just really don't like you and that's completely fair. That's a risk that you undertake when you do something. I think in order to let something go, you have to acknowledge it. Maybe the factors were out of your control. Accepting the truth that the past has happened and you have to move forward, regardless of whatever the problem is.

I'm having a hard time letting go of some old friends. Not friends anymore but, like, people who used to be in my life who aren't exactly as present and I have to be okay with trimming some of the fat in my life.
If you feel like you have unnecessary people in your life or if they're just, like, unnecessarily, like,

toxic or negative or you feel like they're—they hold you back for whatever reason, I feel like you're just better off without them. I think it's so much easier to live your life in a way where you hold, you know, your important people close and the people who love you and root for you genuinely for who you are.
There's no way I have the time and energy to deal with even the things that I care about so, like,

why am I trying to save the feelings of people that I don't care about?
It took me years, took me years personally to finally draw the line and be like, ‘Yeah, you know, I just—I don't really have the time for this anymore.’
I think it's really hard to tell when someone really genuinely cares

for you or not. But then again, the obvious ones make them very obvious.
I think time is absolutely necessary. Even if you want to let it go in the moment, an ample amount of time has to pass and then you have to consciously let it go. And I think that's kind of where I'll leave it.

Sometimes, you're better off without certain people in your life. keshi shares his insights into what it means to let go.

Letting Go

Hey guys. So this is for those of you who are feeling a little burnt out from work, who feel like you can't get inspired, or if you've hit a roadblock or writer's block. We're gonna talk about what I do to get into a more creative space and what helps me create some good work.
I always make an effort to at least walk into the studio and at least listen to music every day, whether I feel like I want to create something or not.

It's to make sure that I don't become afraid of walking into the studio, which has happened before. And then it becomes like a self-fulfilling prophecy where I know that I'm not going to be able to create. If I don't ever go inside the studio, I'm never going to make anything so I have to at least try to be inside there. And then I'll make it a low pressure sort of assignment for the day where it's just like, just go in and enjoy your monitors. Just go in and listen to a record that you like. And maybe that might inspire you to do something.

Here's the way that I think about inspiration. Sometimes, it comes to me suddenly. There's just, like, a creative energy. I feel the seismic activity in my head and I free up my day. If I had plans that day, I'll just—I'll just cancel everything so I can hole myself up in the studio.
If you feel a tsunami of inspiration, I would strongly advise you to clear the rest of your schedule

out of your day and to just ride that wave head-on. You can't—you can't make inspiration happen. There's no way. It just happens. You can kind of exercise it and train it by being in the studio every day. But you don't have to pressure yourself to make a new beat every single day. I think that exhausts you. I just want to reiterate to myself that the studio is a safe, creative space to be in.

And that's why I go in every day.
Inspiration is definitely something that comes to you. It comes through you. It's not anything you can manifest. It just feels like lightning in a bottle. It just feels like sometimes you just get struck with a feeling where you really want to make something. Most of the time it happens when you—for me,

when I have an instrument in my hand and you give me, like, 30 minutes to an hour with it, and then, like, something might happen. Maybe I figure something out that sounds really good and I want to just throw it in Logic really quick. Other times it can happen when you're consuming art, when you're on-the-go, or when you're having a sandwich at a deli.
The best moments are when it feels effortless, but not every moment can feel effortless. It's impossible.
When it comes to creativity, I think the most dangerous thoughts are the ones

that tell you that you should stop—that you should stop whatever it is you're doing and just quit forever. I think those are dangerous.
You can be frustrated with your own work. I think that's fine. I think it's necessary to feel like maybe what you're making isn't good enough. You know, that's completely normal as well. You hold yourself to a certain standard. That's completely fair. I do that all the time.

If I can't create, I definitely get frustrated. If I ever get frustrated because I can't put anything out, I'll usually step away for a moment. Whether it's like a couple of days or even for just an hour, you just step away, do something else, get your mind off of it, and then come back with a fresh mind. It's hard to hear things objectively again so sometimes you just need to step away.
If you ever feel like you want to quit, even though you do know that you want to continue,

I mean, at the end of the day, if you actually want to continue, like, it'll come back like a wave. It comes in waves—there's high moments and then there's low moments. So I would just say to, like, give yourself a break and wait it out.
I hope you guys are doing well. I hope that everyone gets some good waves to surf on, to get their ideas out, to be creative, and to make good art.

What do you do when inspiration strikes? And when it doesn't? keshi gives some advice on how to get into a creative headspace, no matter the circumstances.

Tsunami of Inspiration

This Mindset Collection contains adult language.
Hi y'all. It's keshi.
I think that the way you've probably seen me up ‘til now is a very serious sort of persona—one that takes a lot of pride in the art that they make. One who’s uncompromising.

But the truth is, I'm actually a very fun-loving dude—crack jokes all the time. I'm laughing all the time. My fiancée actually, like, gets really upset at me sometimes because my laugh is so obnoxiously loud and annoying. And I, like, do this fucking, like, seal clap when I, like, really burst out laughing. I clap, like, one time really loud and all my friends think I'm a weirdo.
The studio right now feels like an incredibly safe space,

and I'm not just saying that because it's like that's sort of the ethos of Mindset. It feels like confessional. You know that the role of that room is to, like, create art and to create magic and you're there to perform.
I've been working on this album for, like, the whole past year since January. The whole record deals with the

person behind the artist, and this is just the perfect opportunity to talk about, you know, who is Casey behind keshi?
I feel like when I first got signed was the first time I had fear regarding the keshi project. keshi was supposed to be an entity in which I could explore different creative avenues without being under scrutiny. And there I was, getting signed, about to be under

immense scrutiny.
It killed some creativity. Just for a little bit. But I think most of all, it made me retreat into the persona. Like, I was like, okay, there's no room for error anymore. There's no room for slipping up. Everything has to be keshi from here on out. Everything that gets out into the content of the world must be keshi. Casey's not allowed there.
And I think that's a

confidence thing. It's like a—oh, Casey's not, like, up to snuff. People won't like him because this whole time, the people that have been watching me have been falling in love with keshi.
But as time goes on, you know, I get a little older, I get a little wiser, I get a little bit more experience, and more comfortable in my own skin as I start to merge into the

shoes that I've laid out for myself. So I think that's why right now is just the perfect time for you to kind of see who Casey is behind the artist veil.
My biggest hope for this after people hear my Mindset is that

I hope that it encourages someone to be comfortable in their own skin. I think that's probably, like, the most important thing for me. We hide behind a lot of different faces that we have with other people, behind social media. And all of it gets very exhausting sometimes, you know? And sometimes it's nice to be reassured that

someone who you look up to or whose art you admire—sometimes it's reassuring to you to know that, you know, they're human too, and they have the same sort of—they struggle with the same fights that you do ‘cause we're all human in the end.
My name is keshi and welcome to my Mindset.

What started as a creative project turned into a persona the world fell in love with. But what about the person behind the artist? keshi opens up for the first time about who he truly is behind the veil.

Who is Casey?

Success to first-generation immigrants—I think they hark back to, like, what brings them pride, which is helping other people or knowledge. Being a doctor or an engineer. But at the end of the day, they wanted opportunity so they worked incredibly hard to get that for their family and their kids.

My grandparents wanted to give me the ultimate opportunity.
My drive is Vietnamese and my aspirations are American. When I say aspirations are American, as kids, we’re taught that we can shoot for the fucking stars.
So I did.
Episode 1: Texas Boy

Texas was hot. It was muggy. It's familiar. It's Southern.
I would see… I would see horses and cows grazing as I drove past. That was normal for me.

I would see people wearing camo a lot. Denim jeans and boots. I think cowboy hats and button down shirts.
My world was Texas so the first time that I realized that my bubble of Texas was not representative of the entire world was when I was on a school trip and I met some kids that were from out of state. They said, “Oh, where are you guys from? And I said, “Oh, we're from Texas. Where are y'all from? And they started laughing because I had

said the word ‘y’all.’
And I thought that they were the weird ones ‘cause I was like, “Yo, you guys don't say ‘y'all?’ What's wrong with you?” It's, like, basic grammar, you know?
My Vietnamese identity is so... is so confused, dude. I'm still confused about this. This is probably the thing that I'm most confused about in my whole life.
I was born and raised in a place called Sugarland, Texas. It is a suburb outside of Houston

and the Asian culture in Texas is really interesting, if you compare it to, like, the population in a different state, especially one like California, where there have been a lot of immigrants of Asian peoples for a longer time, I think, than Texas.
And that shows in—that shows in the personalities of the different Asian kids that I've met over the

years of my life. And I'm laughing because I'm thinking about a time where my brother and I were talking when we were in high school after we had met some Californian Asian kids. And I remember my brother was like, “Yo, these California kids are different, bro.” And I was like, “Yeah, I know, dude. They kind of wildin’ a little bit.”
In Texas, you're still definitely minority, you know? I wouldn't say that you’re trying to be quiet or anything. You’re just trying to not make a fuss, like, ever. I don't think anything was going to happen to us if, like,

we were weird. We were just always conscious of, kind of, adhering a little bit to the South's sort of values, I guess?
I spoke only Vietnamese for the first couple years of my life. And then out of love and a little bit of fear for my success, my parents

shifted to speaking only English with me at home, because I think there was an experience that they had in which they were like, “Oh, wait, if he has an accent or he can't speak English exactly properly, then he'll be held back from opportunities in life.”
Whether that was the right decision or not, I don't know. I went to a Catholic school and I think I remember my mom telling me something about the nun. The teacher there was complaining that I couldn't recite the hymns because

I didn't speak English. My mom, like—she did not appreciate that and she pulled me out of the Catholic private school. It was just like a pre-pre-K or something like that. But also, I was also new at school and what was I supposed to do? Like, memorize them, like, right away?
And then from then on, I just—I spoke English at home and slowly my Vietnamese deteriorated and all I remember growing up was—not scolding from my extended family but—them telling me like, “Why don't you speak the language?”

They act like I didn't try. I was four years old. What was I supposed to do? Go to mom and dad and be like, “Give me a book.” I feel like they treated me like it was my fault, which, you know, rubs me the wrong way a little bit. I haven't opened this can of worms yet in my life so this is interesting to talk about.
There were times in my, like—

in my teens, my early teens where I was encouraged to learn on my own. But by that time, I was interested in other things. I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. That's what I was—I didn't want to study Vietnamese.
I discovered my ethnicity by way of another girl at school who was Chinese. She was showing us her Chinese writing.

And I was really excited at that point ‘cause I was like, ‘Whoa. This is beautiful and really cool. Do I have some sort of writing for me? Like, what am I?’
So I remember I went home to my dad and I was like, “Dad, what am I?” And he's like, “You're a boy.” And I was like, “No, like, what am I?” And he was like, “Oh, like, that's what you mean. We're Vietnamese.”  He told me where it was and of course I'm, like, third grade. I don't know where anything in the world is. And I was like, “Dad, just show me the writing.”

And he started writing in what looked to me to be English.
And I was immediately disappointed. ‘Cause I loved... I loved the characters and I loved the intricacy of the writing, and I was like, “Wait, this is just English letters with accents on top.” And he was like, “Yeah, this is our alphabet.” And I remember seeming disappointed and my dad actually getting, like, kind of frustrated at me

and he was just like, “What the—what the fuck do you mean? This is our writing. Why are you sad about it?” He was probably so happy to know that his son started to feel pride for his ethnicity only to be disappointed because he doesn't have Chinese characters to write.
It was actually one of the indicators that I was not the same as some of my other Asian friends who looked like me and enjoyed the same things as I did.

I started to feel a little conscious about the differences in our cultures.
And you know what, actually? I just unearthed a crazy memory.
We had National Flag Day in school where everyone was supposed to handmake a flag and put it on a stick and bring it to school. That was their

homework assignment. And I went to school and I saw one other Vietnamese flag. Just one. In a sea of American or European flags or Chinese flags or maybe Indian flags.
And, I remember just thinking, ‘Oh, nobody else is this? That—that's... dang. Like, that's kind of weird,’ you know?
And it's

not like there was a plethora of the smaller European or Indian ones either. It just pointed out to me, like, ‘Oh, I'm a minority in the minority.’ And that made me feel weird.
I craved the experience of the Caucasian suburban kid, which was to have a stay-at-home mom

who was always available to pick you up from school, make your lunch for you, show up at functions like Muffins for Moms slash Donuts for Dads.
But both of my parents worked. They both worked 9-5s. That’s probably the embodiment of my memory of my parents. They were both always working. Hard. But not so much that they

weren't there for us at the end of the night, you know?
My story of my grandparents coming over, particularly on my mom's side, was my grandpa was in the navy so he had already made his way to the Americas and the task at that point was for my grandma and her kids to make it over somehow on a fishing boat while getting shot at, apparently. ‘Cause they didn't want anyone to leave once the war was ending.

I just remember getting told that they almost died. They were going to drown. It was a fishing boat and they're trying to cross intercontinental seas. And they got picked up by a large German boat, and they took them to Pennsylvania, I think,

so that was their story—they were in Pennsylvania for a little bit. And then, for some reason or another, they relocated to Texas.
And my dad's story, I believe—so I haven't really talked to them very heavily about this but—I do understand that he was better off due to their connections that my grandpa had on that side and they were able to just get flown to the States. But it was a really tumultuous time for my dad, who speaks on my album about it,

and he talks about how unfamiliar life was because he didn't speak the language. He didn't know anyone. Everything he knew was abandoned. He was 18 years old.
They don't talk about it that often. And I think that's very characteristic of immigrant families. It's a silent struggle. They don't bitch about it, you know—they don't

complain about all the things they had to give up. They just talk about how hard they worked and how fortunate they are now. Which is crazy to me because here we are, like, growing up anxious and depressed in the United States. We're playing video games and watching TikTok to escape our problems and we're like, “Oh God, life is so hard.” And then our parents were on the fishing boat, like, “Aw yeah. We're about to go to the States. It's going to be lit!” You know? They're so excited to find opportunity. It's just a fun, funny dichotomy to think about.

It's not like anyone's problems are any worse, by the way. I'm not belittling any of that. It's just interesting to think about how different they were.
Honestly, because of the nature of my job, because I am kind of, like, at that break of the pyramid where you're trying to reach for more beyond the necessities, I do reflect on how fortunate I am to be able to do the things that I do, never taking it for granted,

and never thinking it's going to last forever.
But I think that, like, the ultimate way to kind of pay it back is to be like, “Hey, look. Your sacrifices were for this.” You know, I have something to show for it. And even if everything fails now, I'm glad that I reached for it.

We grew up with a lot of our family's tendencies and their aspirations in mind. But at the end of the day, the life that you live is yours and your happiness is your own. So ultimately you do pursue what fulfills you,

but you also have to appreciate the things that your family went through for you to have that opportunity.

keshi reflects on his past, upbringing, and childhood - including the sacrifices his parents and grandparents made - and how it’s all shaped him to become who he is today.

Texas Boy

For anyone who thinks that being an artist is out of their bounds, it all depends on what your definition is and what your goals are. Your idea of success should not be limited to radio or playing stadiums. It can be learning the F chord. It can be... it can be playing shows at a coffee shop. It can be writing your first song.
Inspiration can come from anywhere, no matter how big or how small. And sometimes you just don't know where it's gonna find you.

And something as small as listening to a song that you fall in love with could change the course of your life ‘cause that's literally what happened to me.
Episode 2: Music Music Music
My first memory of music was

when I was a really young kid and MTV was really big—it was still 90’s era, I think. And Matchbox 20 put out a song called “Unwell,” and I don't know if you've ever heard that but it's got, like, a sick banjo sample in it — it's just like this little riff that's, like, so catchy.
It's not like I felt compelled to pick up an instrument or, like, start singing. I was just like, “Whoa, I love this song!”

Which is the essence of enjoying music. There's nothing purer than that.
One of my first experiences of music was set up by a girl that I had a crush on and she happened to be a badminton player that I met because my dad played badminton. She was like, “What elective do you want to do going into middle school?” I was like, “Oh, I really like art. I want to do art when I get into sixth grade.” And she was like, “You should do orchestra.” I was like, “Bet.

I'm going to do orchestra.”
So I wanted to play the violin so I went to my mom and I was like, “Mom, I want to play the violin.” And she was like, “No you don't. You want to do art.” I was like, “No, no, Katrina said I want to play the violin so imma play the violin.”
And because of that, I met my fiancée in class in sixth grade because we were both in orchestra together.
So, little things like that change your life,

you know? It's funny how things just kind of fall into your lap like that.
And then I learned that I really didn't like orchestra. I really didn't like playing the violin. I just felt it was too rigid for me, reading sheet music. It didn't make sense ‘cause I was like, instruments are meant to be mediums of your expressions so why am I being told how to play? That's weird.
So it wasn't until I picked up the guitar at 13, where nobody told me how to play it,

that I found freedom in music.
The story of me getting my first guitar was that I asked my mom to get one for me because I was a fan of the show Drake and Josh, and Drake wooed all the girls with his guitar playing skills so I was like, ‘I want to be Drake.’
So I went to my mom and I was like, “Oh, can I get a guitar?” And she was like, “No.” Because she just thought that I was gonna

just put it down and not touch it, and she didn't want to shell out the money for a toy that her kid was just gonna throw away.
So I did the only logical thing, which was to circumvent her and go to my grandpa and ask for a guitar. Which I knew that he had because I had seen it around the house.
So he took it to the dry cleaner store one day where I would be babysat by my grandparents. And he sat me down with a book and I was glued to it

for the whole day. So I think he was stunned by that ‘cause kids have attention spans of, like, squirrels, but when they don't, it's surprising. So he was like, “Okay, you obviously really like this thing so you should take it home.” So I did.
I remember thinking that the guitar felt bigger than I thought it would. That the strings felt thicker too. I couldn't wrap my hands around it ‘cause it was a big classical guitar and those necks are, like, huge.

The memory is so vivid. Taking it home and going online to figure out how to tune it. Searching up top 100 guitar tabs. Learning “Stairway to Heaven.” Ed Sheeran songs. Sam Smith songs. Ariana Grande songs were really big. Plain White T's. All Time Low. I learned all the tabs. So I basically just went in a deep dive in the music that I listened to and figured out how to play those songs.

And then you amass a vocabulary and that makes its way in the future into your own music.
I would say that John Mayer is probably my first real hero and my—probably my only hero in my life. When I first heard a song of his, it was a song called “Stop This Train.” I was listening to Pandora Radio in my dad's computer room.

It didn't feel like anything that special in the beginning of the song. It wasn't until, like, midway through the song, he starts talking about how he's no good at getting older and he wants to stay young and how he talks to his dad about what he should do and how his dad tells him, “There's nothing you can do. It's just kind of how life works.”
And I think that was my ‘oh shit’ moment

where I was vicariously hearing advice from someone who is much older than me about how finite life is and how we have to be okay with that. And if you can find a way to, like, compress that feeling into three and a half minutes, I think that's magic. 
That's what we do. We imitate our heroes until we

find our own voice.
I always wanted to be different. I craved recognition for individuality and wanting to impress upon people maybe things or skills that they hadn't been used to.
I feel like the norm was to be a model kid and be

obedient and do what was normal and I felt like I wanted to be… I wanted to stand out. Be recognized for something that wasn’t so commonly done over and over again. Something that only I could do. I wanted—that was my way of carving out my own identity.

I think it was the moment that I picked up the guitar, really embodies the moment where I was like, I really wanted to be great at it. That was the first time I'd ever found passion for something. It was finally the one thing that I wanted to strive for that wasn't for the sake of anything else, except for the fact that I loved it. It just so happens

to also fulfill that same need to excel at something different.
I was watching all these people do covers on YouTube and they would have videos of themselves playing the guitar, also singing and doing, like, shakers and drums and stuff, so it was very tangible. When you watch it, you're like, ‘Oh, these are all the instruments that they're playing. And this is when they come in.’ Production in a nutshell.
And I was like, ‘Oh okay, like,

if I get a Macbook, I can do that with Garageband.’ I saved up my money from Christmases and Chinese New Years and stuff and I remember I got my first Macbook and I opened it up and I recorded layers of guitar for the first time. I was like, ‘Oh, this is how you do it.’ And I recorded a cover of Sixpence None the Richer’s song called “Kiss Me,” which is, like, a classic, just in, like, the folky 90s, sort of early 2000s, era. 
And I put it out and all of my close friends were really taken aback.

They were like, “Oh whoa, Casey. You can hit notes. Like, you can sing!”
I was nervous because I was like, ‘Oh, it's the first time anyone's hearing me sing.’ But at the same time, it was rewarding to, like, put it out and have recognition for something I had worked so hard on. You've worked all those years to build up your skill set so you can perform. And finally it's out.
And then it just

made me want to record more so I started, like, a YouTube channel. And I remember I hit a thousand subscribers or something and I was, like, so proud of it. And my videos would get 500 views and I'd be like, “I did it! Yeah!”
It feels like so long ago and now I'm here. It's weird.

I've spent so much of my life pouring it into this instrument and into the craft. Without it, I don't know who I am. I don't know what my identity is. If I'm not making music, if you take the guitar away from me, I'm just a dude. You know, just flesh and bone.
Maybe you're listening to this and maybe you've had a similar experience.

I don't think my story is too dissimilar from the stories of a lot of other people who start out singing and wanting to be artists—they all start somewhere. Maybe you've gotten bullied or put down for trying something new, but I urge you to just keep going ‘cause honestly what they say doesn't matter.
My name is keshi and this is my Mindset.

A deep dive into the history and approach of keshi to music. keshi reminisces on how he came to pick up the guitar and the way it equipped him for his new journey of becoming a musician.

Music Music Music

Episode 3. This is about a past life when I used to be a nurse.
I wanted to study at the Berklee College of Music, which is a university over in Boston. And I remember they were having auditions and I really wanted to go, but my mom

refused to pay the audition fee. It was a pretty swift sort of hammer that came down. It was like a, “No Casey, you're not gonna do that. You're gonna find something else.” And I was like, ‘Damn okay. I guess I'm not really cut out for it. As much as I want it to happen.’
I think that the inception of the idea of nursing was from a friend that I had in high school, who came from a family of nurses. So he was kind of talking about,

“Oh yeah, this is where I'm going to end up. This is definitely what I’m gonna do.” And he was so sure of it. So I was like, ‘Oh, I'll take what he's having.’
I didn't know what the job entailed. And in the first two years of university, they're all prerequisite classes and nursing school itself is only two years. So you take things like chemistry, bio, intro to physiology, stuff like that,

pharmacology. And it wasn't until I was a third year and then I was like, ‘Oh, this is the chop.’ I was naive and deluded myself into thinking, like, ‘Maybe once I'm actually working as a nurse, it's not gonna be like this.’
I worked as a nurse from 2017 to mid-2018.

The day-to-day was:
Wake up at 5. Drive 40 minutes on Highway 90 to get to the medical center. Park in a parking lot and take the metro over to the hospital. Arrive at the hospital. Clock in with my badge. Immediately prepare for the morning meds. I drank coffee and nothing else. You and five other nurses are fighting for the medication machine, which is called the Pyxis that has all the drugs in it, and you are supposed to go and pull out all the drugs

and give them to your patients, and that's probably the most hectic time.
And, by the way, if you come in on Monday and you have five patients, you could come in on Tuesday and have five completely different patients. So even if you learn one, you still have to go back and learn five new people.
I just worked until basically the first break I got, which was lunch. If I even got lunch. It was 30 minutes and you're supposed to have quote unquote

a 30-minute lunch break, uninterrupted. But no, that never happened. They were always calling you during lunch. You would have to get up mid-lunch and go change a wound or something. You have to pee and poop incredibly fast because someone's always calling for you. Incessant calls, whether it be the call bell or the phone. It's administering meds. Sometimes you have to help feed people. If your assistants aren’t there to help you… [unintelligible]

And then finally, at 6:45, the relief would come in. And you are there at the front desk waiting to give report because that's how nurses changed shifts—you have to give report. And sometimes, like, report takes, like, 40 minutes and you're just trying to

go home, dude. You're so tired. You've been on your feet for 12 hours. You’re starving because you had one meal to eat the whole day. And then you finally go home to shower the blood and piss off. And you go to bed and you wake up at 5 the next morning to do it again.
It's just terrible.

Like, stressful. And why am I doing this? I'm not even good at it. Why am I not making music when I'm good at making music? I was just feeling extreme frustration at the fact that I couldn't do what I felt like I was kind of born to do. And there's just so much dissonance that was pent up, you know?
So I'd work Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.

And then Wednesday through Saturday were my days off. I only have four days to make music. I need to spend all of the time making music. My dad would have coffee made ‘cause he made French press every morning. So I would go down and I would have some at 7 and I would just hole myself in my room and make music. And I would not eat. I would not drink water. I would come down at 4 feeling like death.

I think I just wanted release, emotionally. And also it's, like, revenge. I've lost time that I can't get back so I'm going to see if I can try to get it back but, I mean, it's already lost. At that point, I'm sacrificing my health. 
There was a point in time where the royalties that I was making off of my music was the same as my nursing pay. I had a music friend talk to me and he was like, “Wait. With the amount of streams that you're getting,

you should be fine to quit. How have you not quit by now?” And I was like, “Dude, I don't think I can do it.”
I didn't want to accept that it could possibly be real and then find out that it was just a fluke and, like, it was only for a fleeting moment that I had attention. It comes from wanting it so bad that you can't believe when it's actually starting to happen.

It would be the worst pain in the world if you convinced yourself like, ‘Oh, it's starting!’ and then it just falls short.
To me, it just felt like I was living two different lives: By day, he's a nurse. By night, he's a musician. I literally was living two different lives and that caused me an abundance of stress. I need to make a decision. Now. I started to feel the fork in the road when I started taking label meetings in New York.

And that was the part that convinced me like, ‘Oh, maybe this is an option.’ I guess the best way to put it is that it started to fork really shallow and I was walking on both roads at the same time.
I  had expressed desire to leave to my family already, but I didn't exactly tell them what I wanted to do. And when I did, my dad was very frustrated with me because he took it as me not appreciating

the opportunity that I had been given to attend school and to have a solid 9-5 job. All I wanted to do was go part-time. I didn't even want to, like, quit yet. He just could not understand why I would chase a silly dream over, like, an obviously stable and great option. The safe option.
A lot of yelling was involved. It's a little blurry to me now because it's been so long, but I understood my dad's frustration

so I wasn't irrational about it. I just told him the facts and I was like, “I want to go part-time. This is why.” And he spoke his piece and that was it.
So both he and my mom did not take it that well. Definitely did not talk to him for a long time after that. He did come around. I mean, which is, like, obvious ‘cause everything is—all is well now but

I did go part-time for a little bit. I went part-time. I thought it would ease, sort of, that stress and anxiety.
And then, one day, someone came up with some work to do and I was already fed up and everything so I immediately snapped at them. I snapped at the senior nurse who was giving me a new task and it was just a really violent and immediate outburst. And that's not

who I was at the hospital floor. It was—like, I was a very pleasant, like, happy-go-lucky dude who likes to crack jokes and work really fast. That was it. And then I got called into my manager's office.
I opened the door and my manager sits down at her desk

and I sit down and she says, “Casey, tell me what's going on.” And I—immediately I start tearing up and I cry and... Sometimes, it feels like you were crying like a little kid again where you're like — like, you're, like, breathing in really fast.
It was a bunch of factors. It was like, ‘Why can't I do what I want to do?’ ‘Why am I doing what I don't want to do?’

‘I can't believe I just yelled at my coworker.’ ‘I want to go home.’ Super simple raw emotions like that.
I was just—I just couldn't explain. I was just so… I was so apologetic for what I had done, because it just felt like it wasn't me. In that moment, to me, it was immediately very clear I can't do both.

Catharsis is the best word for it.
And next day I handed in my resignation letter and then, the week after I got an offer from Island Records to sign my first record deal so... It just fell into my lap,

I guess. It kind of just happens like that, you know?
I think I was slow to leave because I was very fixated on a rigid idea of stability. I held firmly onto this idea of reality where I was like, ‘Don't kid yourself into thinking that it’s possible.’

But to everyone listening now, I'm telling you, like, it is possible. It takes an unreal amount of luck and work, but it is possible.
I would say to anyone on the fence, you gotta look at your situation because it's unique and I don't want to give out irresponsible advice. But I would say that I would think about

giving yourself a year to see if things can possibly work. And maybe a year isn't enough, you know? And maybe you could do what I did where I did juggle both, where I built keshi for a really, really long time and I didn't leave until it was really obvious that it was time for me to leave.
But when you get to that point, you should jump the fence.

Shout out to nurses everywhere. I hope that my poor experiences in the job don't make you reflect poorly on yours. It's very necessary and I appreciate all the hard work that you do, especially in this crazy time.
All my love to all my nursing friends that are still out there, busting their asses. I love you guys. And I hope to see you soon.

"By day, he's a nurse. By night, he's a musician." keshi opens up about his experiences of living two very different lives and the moment he chose to live out only one.

My Double-Life as a Nurse

I think keshi changes and evolves with every new body of work that I make, simply because I'm growing as a writer and a producer and an artist.
He's vain. He's confident. He's serious. He's moody. I think, driven and passionate about what the music is, is the most important thing though.

keshi is a bit of a piece of art for me that I make as well. It started as a means to expand my creativity. And you pull at the thread for years and years and years and years, and the next thing you know, you find yourself recording your Mindset Collection.
Episode 4: Becoming keshi

So in order to explain this, I need to start from the beginning. When I was 13 years old, I got my hands on my first guitar because I wanted to learn how to play to impress girls, which is a little silly but, you know, it got me to play the guitar so whatever works, right?
When I was 15, I wanted to be a songwriter. So I did that for a long time and I wrote a bunch of

terrible songs. But I figured out what worked and what didn't work.
And then when I was 20, I slowed down and realized that I didn't want to just be a songwriter. I wanted to be something more because the people that I enjoyed listening to, they were more than songwriters.

They were artists.
So at 20, I learned how to start producing music and how to make it sound full. And it wasn't quite enough to convince me that I was at the level that I want to be at yet. I had to create a persona

that could convince me and other people. So the last ingredient to the formula was to disappear and to make Casey not in the picture anymore, in front of the artist. I had to put the artist at the forefront and make the person behind him disappear. And that's how keshi was started.

I had a moment where I did a talent show in LA and I fucked my set. I had an acoustic set, but I've always wanted for my sound to sound fuller so I tried to get around it without having a full band by replacing that with, like, a loop pedal because Ed Sheeran was making that a really cool thing. But you know, when he does it, that's his thing, first of all, so trying to spin it into yours is already so difficult

‘cause it's ingrained into his brand. And second of all, it's a very sensitive, sort of, little art. If you are slightly off tempo or you launch your recording at the wrong time, everything can just derail. And that's what happened.
I remember the feeling of my foot slipping off the pedal. I think I was wearing Chelsea boots or wingtip shoes or something—something that I'm not used to wearing with the pedal

because I usually do it barefoot at home. I remember hitting the pedal, thinking that I hit it, but then the sample in the background, looping improperly. And I immediately stopped it and I went “ooh” in the mic and I was like, ‘ah shit.’ But I just went to the mic and I said, “Let's try it again.” And then I did it again and I did the set without a hitch after that. But I remember in my bones, I felt like, ‘Oh. I've gone and fucked it.’

You just want to be, like, impenetrable when you’re on stage. And as soon as that facade, that channeling, is broken, you know, you're not convincing anyone at that point.
But I remember, back then, I was so upset by the whole ordeal that I got home and I wanted to quit the guitar. I told all my friends. I was just like, “Yeah, I think I'm done.” Because I didn't see… I didn't see myself ever crossing the finish line.

And if I fucked something that was, like, that small, how could I ever make it anywhere else? So I was like, ‘Maybe I'll just find something else.’
And then that month break gave me time to really evaluate if I loved music or not. And then at the end of it, I was like, ‘I love music.’
It just made me step back and realize that

I don't think that this thing that I'm doing right now is working for me. And I didn't know what needed to change but something did need to change. I knew that I wanted more than the show. I didn't want to be a contestant at a talent show. I didn't want to do, like, acoustic sets. I wanted to make cool art. And what I went to felt like a circle jerk.

The kid who wanted recognition for being a good singer died there, and the person who wanted to be recognized for making art was definitely born there.
It was about a month later that I wanted to pick up the guitar again. And I knew that

I wanted to do something different, but I had no idea what it was. So a month later I had to start searching.
I went onto SoundCloud, went to Create New Account, and I sat there for a long time thinking about, like, a username. And I typed in ‘keshi’ and that was it.
It was actually very casual. It's not

supposed to be some sort of grand, climactic moment. It was actually—imagine a kid sitting at his computer in his apartment in college while his friends were playing Overwatch. Overwatch was huge back then. I was playing so much of it. Sneakers were really in—the Yeezys were coming out, the new ones—the 350 V2s, I think. Bryson Tiller was really big. Frank Ocean just released Blonde and I was inspired. I was inspired by him and Joji. Chloe Burbank. Man, this is when lo-fi was having its boom.

And I started to learn more about production. About using EQ in creative ways, rather than practical ones. Ways to paint, like, colors with sound, rather than to adhere to, like, traditional audio engineering roles, I guess. It just felt like a really

ripe time for me to try something new and to just be weird. Just go on SoundCloud and upload weird shit. Stuff that I had never tried making before.
And all I had to do was try. Like I always had, like with the guitar or with singing or with production—just try something else. I learned how to sample. I learned how to chop up samples. I had fun, like, pitching things

in different sorts of ways to make it, you know, palatable. I had a lot of fun putting formants on my vocals 'cause I've always been conscious of my vocals and I've always wanted it to be deeper. So that was my opportunity to kind of play around with it.
keshi was never meant to, like, go on stage or, like, sell shows. None of my friends or my family knew about it.

I didn't tell anyone because the recognition I could get from people who weren't close to me, that was the validation that I was looking for all along. Legitimate recognition without needing to save my feelings.
Any sort of promotion that happened with keshi was not by me, because that defeats the purpose and the ethos

of the project. So it's actually fucking crazy to think that I'm here now without having told anybody about it in the beginning. Everything spread very organically and slowly through genuine fans who were curious as to who this person was. And what was important to other people who were discovering me is that there was no trace of who the person behind the artist was. 
They couldn't

relate it to themselves in any way. No one could say, “Oh yeah. I actually know that guy, personally.” Nobody knew who keshi was personally. So there was nothing to ground this being into earth. Which is what made him special.

Lo-fi was having its boom and people were hungry to find producers that had potential. There was too much noise to filter through even in, like, 2015, 2016. So they needed to find people who were consistent. So as soon as they found someone who had that sort of quality to it, you know, content aggregators on YouTube, they would reach out to ask for permission to post it. And then they would post it on their channels.

And then they would come back again and ask, “Oh, this video did well. Can we have another song?” And it wasn't a monetary thing for me ever. It was a recognition sort of thing. I would always say, “Yeah, just give credit, post my links, and it's yours.”
It was incredibly slow. It was definitely not an overnight thing where, like, I started getting hits and hits and hits and likes and likes and likes.

I remember just, like, hitting, like, 50 followers, and I was stoked because 50 real and different people who don't know me want to come back and listen to my music. They would say things like, “Oh, this guy's voice is amazing. It's angelic.” And I remember being very self-conscious about my voice because I was told that I was a terrible singer and I couldn't sing back when I first started. Which was probably true.

All these comments from people who had no idea who I was. People weren't saving my feelings. There are people who actually genuinely feel this way. And that was the sort of validation I needed to continue moving forward.
It was basically Casey creating an artist and finding his own voice in keshi.

I remember I would work—I was being trained as a nurse in 2017, and I would go to my friends on the floor and pull up the YouTube channels that had put me on and I would say, “Look, look, look! I got uploaded here and it has 10,000 plays. Isn't that amazing?” And they would be like, “Yeah, that's cool.” You know, they would just give a head nod. You know, tilt their head 20 degrees and close their eyes and, like, nod. You know, that thing. So it's just

crazy to think that now I've accumulated over a billion streams worldwide. What a weird life.
I'm proud of what I've made, but I'm not satisfied. I'm at the stage where

I've made the artist. I've put out some stuff that kind of sets up the scene of who he is, but I haven't made an opus record yet. I mean, like, the ultimate record. The artist’s ultimate record. When you think of the Beatles, you think of Abbey Road. When you think of Frank Ocean right now, you think of Blonde. And when you think of John Mayer, you think of Continuum.

I need a Continuum. That's my end goal.
It's not to tour the world, as amazing as that is. It's not to, like, make millions of dollars. It's to make a record that people will listen to years after I'm gone.

An origin story. keshi reveals the humanity and intention behind the persona, the story of how it came to be, and the philosophy behind projecting the larger-than-life artist into the world and his work.

Becoming keshi

When I think of Mai, she is my rock. I feel so secure with myself as a person because I have her there. You never care about what anyone else thinks because you have them there. Their opinion is the only one that matters.
Oh guys hold on, I'm getting a call from my fiancée

right now.
keshi: Moshi moshi.
Mai: So your package got delivered when I wasn't home.
keshi: Uh huh.
Mai: But for me to pick it up, like, our last names don't match and my—
keshi: Are you, are you implying that I should have married you earlier so that our last names could match so that you could pick up my parcel?
Mai: Yeah, you don’t get your package. Okay. Wait, can you send me a picture of your ID?
keshi: Okay.
Mai: Thank you.
keshi: *Speaks in Japanese*
Mai: Well, I'm at Parcel Plus right now. So can you send it to me right now?

So I can, yeah, bring your package home?
keshi: Okay, bye bye.
Mai: Okay, bye.
And that's how I talk with Mai.
Episode 5: Puppy Love
Mai and I met in PE class in sixth grade. She had moved from the UK back to

Texas in the fifth grade so I saw her transfer in at elementary school. And we were both kind of just chilling against the wall because we were both on break and I just asked her what her name was and we just started talking.
And it wasn't like it was love at first sight. We just became, like, very close friends. I would visit her house in the summers. We would rendezvous in the middle of—between our houses and

there's a little water fountain there so we always knew where to meet. We would walk in the blazing heat to her house and her mom would make us, like, Japanese sweets, like daifuku and stuff like that. When I would go over to their house, her parents would call me Casey but it would be pronounced ‘keshi.’ So that's where we get the name from.

We dated for a bit in middle school, and then we broke up when high school came. And long story short, I got into some trouble and got kicked out of my school for a little bit and I went to an alternative school.
And then when I came back from alternative school, we had seen each other for the first time, and I guess we were both like, “Where have you been?

You know, it's good to see you again.” So then we kind of started talking again just as friends. I think it made the both of us appreciate, when I was gone, you know, the friendship that we used to have.
And then the summer came before college. She and her boyfriend had just broken up. So, for some reason, she was in the park because

they had broken up in person and she was crying so bad and she didn't want to go home. We lived close proximity to each other but we weren't that close as friends. But she couldn't think of anyone else's house to come to so she called me crying and was like, “Can I come to your house? I don't want to go home because my eyes are red from crying.”
I was like, “Yeah, sure. I'm about to go to Guitar Center. You want to come?” Like, I thought it was an easy way for her to kind of get her mind

off of things so—and I actually needed to get my guitar restrung and I was, like, trying to run an errand. So I guess I was kind of her shoulder to cry on throughout that summer. And then I started to fall for her again.
And I remember I was teaching some kids tennis. That was kind of my side job then. And it was funny because Mai had just returned from Japan or something. She gave me a necklace

and I was wearing it. So these kids that I was teaching, they saw my necklace and it was new. And they were like, “We like your necklace. Who’s it from?” And I was like, “Oh, it's from a good friend of mine, blah blah blah. She—” you know, and they were like, “Oh, she?” So they’re little kids so they were teasing me about her. And they were like, “Oh, are you gonna marry her?”
And I thought about it and I was like, “Yeah, I want to marry her.”

And we hadn't started dating yet. I just had a huge crush on her and I was starting to fall in love again.
So long story short, we both went to college together and then we started dating very early into our freshman year. And you learn so much about yourself throughout college, and then when you're dating someone else, you learn so much about yourself as well so there was just so much growing up that we both did.

Probably once I graduated college, I was absolutely sure. But even, like, throughout our relationship, our first years and stuff, I would joke about getting married and having kids and stuff, because it was fun to watch her get flustered.
It's subtle. It's gradual. There wasn't one instance where, like, I figured it out. It was over the course of, like, a lot of time being together where I knew that we were going to get married or that we were partners for each other.

I proposed in Hawaii in November of 2019. We stayed at a resort where they have fireworks, and I had been there before so I knew that was the instance in which I wanted to ask her so...
My family knew. My mom and I had gotten the ring together, and she clutched onto the ring for dear life going through TSA and stuff. She was like, “I'm not letting them steal the ring.” I didn't get the ring from my mom until, like,

we got to the bottom of the hotel to walk to the beach because she was clutching onto the ring so hard. And I remember the way that she handed it to me—she, like, opened her purse, got really close to me and just stuffed it into my hand as if she didn't want the rest of the hotel to, like, see what she was giving me or something.
Fireworks were getting set up and there's a bunch of people laid out on the beach. And Mai—it's her first time in Hawaii. She's so excited.

And the plan was that I would ask Mai to hang out with me on the beach after everyone leaves, and my parents and my brother and his girlfriend would meet at the bar that was nearby to celebrate.
So the fireworks end. Everyone gets up and starts packing up and I go to Mai and I tell her, “Hey, why don't we walk for a bit on the beach? You know, I kind of want to enjoy it with you.” And then she turns to me and she's like, “Why? Everyone's going

to the bar. I don't want to, like, be left behind.” And I was like, ‘God fucking dammit.’
So I was like, “No, like, I really think we should, you know, take a walk.” And she's like— she's very much of the mindset she doesn't want to trouble my family. She's like, “Why are you being selfish about taking me on a walk? We—I want to go and hang out with your family.” And I was like, “No, really. Let's go. Now.”
So, there was a crowd of people, all packing up their things to get off of the beach. There was smoke in the air. Lots of

little kids running around too. It was a little cool outside, a little bit humid. There's lights from the nearby restaurants that are along the beachside.
We just kind of walked along the ocean. I think I said something along the lines of like, “I love you more than anything in the whole world, and all I want to do is make you happy. Do you want to live forever with me?”

And then that's when I got down on one knee.
She literally said, “Oh my God, are you actually asking right now?” And I was like, “Yeah, I am asking right now.”
I remember she, like, put both of her hands over her mouth and she was like, “Really?? Like, right now? Like, right now?” And I was like, “Yeah, like, this is happening, like, right now.” And she said, “Yes.” She cried. And that was it.

I don't really believe in destiny. It doesn't feel like a romance that's, like, that grand. And I think that's what's special about it—it doesn't feel like a movie. It feels realistic. Like, a genuine, realistic love for someone else.

I love this person so much and so deeply. Like, how many people can really honestly say they have something like this? I don't think it's that rare, but I think it's so human to want more. When you're dating someone, you or someone else might tell your self, ‘I could do better. Maybe this person is not good enough for me or they're not putting in the effort that I need them to.’

But if you play like that, you're always gonna have, like, a next level to vy for. So when you find the person that's changed your mentality from ‘can this person make me happy?’ into ‘I want to make this person happy,’ I think that's when you found something really special.

I think that the hardest thing that Mai and I have had to talk about is probably the reality that I have to be in LA. I was trying to explain it to Mai, like, “What are we waiting for in Houston? Are we waiting for our Dallas friends to come and move back? Like, as long as we’re together, we can go anywhere. And we can always go back and see our families.” And, she's come around to moving to LA. I think she sees it as, like, a new opportunity and an

adventure for us to have together.
I think the biggest challenge is yet to come, which is tour. Just thinking about the logistics of that. We are so dependent on each other. It is quite hard to be apart, especially after having been used to living with each other so close for the past eight years, basically—if not longer, honestly.
It makes me feel kind of sad, knowing that I'm not going to see her for a long time, but I think that I'm going to be so

absorbed in work anyways that I'm not really going to be able to feel it. I think she really feels it—the brunt of it more than I do.
And a lot of friends say, like, “Why don't you just take her on tour?” And I'm completely okay with that but she wants, you know, to do something of her own, which I respect and admire. So I'm not gonna tell her to not do what she loves to do.
I think the root

of being in a really secure and loving relationship is loving yourself first and being secure with yourself first. A lot of people, you know, tout self-love and et cetera—it goes so much deeper than, like, body image and stuff like that. When they say self-love, I think about addressing your insecurities. Because once you're able to do that, then you have the capacity to focus on someone else.

‘Cause at the root of it, I think that loving someone is trying to make them happy.
I think the journey to self-love is—it has to be a solo journey. No one else is going to tackle your deep-rooted problems with yourself. You have to digest and marinate in that yourself.

It happens through years of trust, I think. Years of, you know, learning about each other, hurting each other on accident but forgiving each other for it, learning how to love one another because everyone is different. It becomes so

daily and understood and almost monotonous, but that's kind of the point.
I want to cap off this episode with a little hi to Mai because everything was about her today.
Mai: Okay, bye.

keshi delves into his relationship with his fiancée, Mai — how they met, how he proposed, and where they're heading now.

Puppy Love

Hey y'all, it's keshi.
I grew up watching a show called Rurouni Kenshin, which is an anime show about this wandering samurai guy. And there was, like, a spin-off episode about the main character meeting this old fisherman man, who talks about how, when he was younger, he witnessed a man

keshi opens up about the biggest insecurities he’s overcome in the past, and how his experiences with bodyshaming and bullying served as launchpads to his current success.

keshi

Who is Casey?

Texas Boy

Music Music Music

My Double-Life as a Nurse

Becoming keshi

Puppy Love

Thank You to My Bullies

We're All Gonna Die

21 Questions with keshi

Collection Highlights

Tracklist

keshi x Mindset

Gallery

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